Apricot
by le-ouiaboo
Summary: France/Germany, Prussia: a secret Santa prompt, in which Germany does his best to comfort France during the economic recession of 2010 with something sweet and from the heart. The cover art is also my work for the gift!


_The prompt was France is depressed because of the crisis which will go on during the 2010. Gemany, seeing him so blue, makes him a cake. Though, the German feels awkward and thinks his present is unworthy and silly, while France believes he's been so kind and cute. (This prompt has clearly dated my time in the fandom, but it was requested, and I did my best.)_

* * *

The current depression was not as dramatic as those of the past, but it still affected France deeply, and the rest of Europe could not afford to deal with a depressed France. Literally. Since he was one of the leading economic powers in the continent, their livelihoods tended to follow his, with distressing accuracy.

Germany knew what he must do, for the sake of the EU, if not the rest of the world.

He approached it with the usual precise methodology, but history books and financial reports relating to his neighbor suggested jump-start solutions which all sounded grueling. Knowing France, that would end up counter-productive more than anything else. There was no help to be found in texts at this rate, and Germany could feel a headache coming as he considered the other possibilities.

He would have to ask someone. Someone who knew France well, and knew what could help get him back on his feet.

With a sigh, Germany set the books aside to be filed away later, and dialed England's number, hoping that he would offer some usable advice. It was a reasonable request, Germany thought, for both countries depended on each other economically, even if they did not get along personally.

Evidently, that was too much to ask from France's longtime enemy. England made it clear that he would be happy to suffer from depression himself if that meant keeping France down, and no amount of logic and data would persuade him otherwise. At last, the island nation grudgingly suggested alcohol, which he claimed had always helped his bad moods, but Germany countered sternly with the fact that ethanol is a nervous system depressant and would actually worsen the situation.

"If I recall, England, after imbibing too much alcohol, you start to reminisce about the past and become temperamental and prone to shedding tears. Highly inefficient, as well as embarrassing."

There was a brief silence, and then England said he had some work to do, unlike another country he could think of, cough-France-cough, good luck.

France's brother to the south, Spain, suggested tomatoes, as expected. Germany had his own suspicions about the effect tomatoes had on the brain. While ignorance could be considered a state of bliss, Spain being the perfect example of this, in the end he decided to place "tomatoes" in the "last resort" category.

It had been a mistake to call North Italy, he thought later. That nation's suggestions certainly would have cheered up most people, but Germany doubted they would increase worker productivity and employment rates. He placed "delicious pasta, lots of it, and naps, he loves naps" in the "possibly effective" category. At any rate, Germany had never been able to control when a nation of Latin background decided to take a nap.

Rubbing his temples with his fingers, Germany glanced at the clock, which read 7:28 in the evening. Had he really missed dinner making these phone calls? Inexcusable, but a necessary sacrifice. He got to his feet and headed glumly to the kitchen, only to find Prussia already there, a plate of cold sausage and potatoes in his hands.

"Since you didn't come down when I called, I was going to bring something up for you."

"Thank you, Prussia. I apologize, I have been on the phone, trying to resolve some business."

"What about? Your awesome brother can help you!"

Germany hesitated, but Prussia stared at him expectantly with those eerie red eyes, and finally he said, "It is about France. I am concerned about his current state, and wished to find some means of motivating him out of his depression."

"Hah, you should have asked me first, West! I know exactly what you can do to help that pervert." A waggle of eyebrows, and in case Germany did not get it, Prussia mouthed "SEX" and winked.

"I believe that will not be necessary," Germany interrupted. Being used to these comments, he very nearly did not blush at the insinuation.

"Are you sure? Because I guarantee you, nothing else will get France off his lazy ass. Hehehe."

Not bothering to dignify that with an answer, Germany took the plate from Prussia and went to reheat it. As he waited for his dinner to warm up to an edible temperature, his gaze fell on the spine of an old cookbook sitting on a shelf in the kitchen. Something stirred in the very distant corners of his mind, voices that sounded familiar, though he had never heard them in the waking world, memories he could never clearly pin down, but which nevertheless felt real. Germany took the cookbook down and flipped through its pages thoughtfully. Perhaps England and Spain and Italy were on the right track, as hard as that was to admit.

For most of his life, Germany had avoided depending on hunches, preferring science and data to emotions and intuition, but for France, he decided to take a chance on this feeling, and see where it would take him.

"Hey, you nearly burned the potatoes! Snap out of it, lovebird!"

* * *

The overheated dinner aside, Germany made his preparations as carefully as he would plan a military maneuver or automobile engine. Any mistake could be fatal to his mission. Prussia had scoffed at the idea, but Germany was sure that if it succeeded, his plan would set France on the road to recovery more surely than funds from the IMF.

He made several trial runs first, experimenting with proportions of ingredients and alterations in baking times, then having Austria and Switzerland taste the results. Then Prussia, and both Italies, and Liechtenstein, just to be sure. When Germany felt certain that his final recipe contained no flaws, he baked two (in case something happened to the first one) of his cakes, carefully put them in cardboard boxes, and set out on the fateful train ride to France's home.

* * *

Some months ago, his boss had recommended France stay at one of the countryside houses, away from the stress and gloom of the big cities, and today that was Germany's destination – a fairytale of a small town, sparkling in the late morning light with a dusting of pristine snow. He rang the doorbell nervously, and heard a faint reply to let himself in.

Blushing slightly, Germany took out the spare key in his pocket and unlocked the door. A quick glance around the living room revealed nothing unusual for France, although that meant nothing, for France was very unusual even during his good days. Germany headed towards the kitchen and after setting his gifts down, one box in the refrigerator and one on the counter, took a moment to look around and shake his head at the organized mess.

Scattered throughout the room were packages and boxes from nearly every country that ever had any connection to France. In the middle of the little dining table was a vase of pink tulips, the tag noting it was from the Netherlands, and another, even larger vase overflowing with red roses apparently from England. A tin of butter cookies from Denmark, a large package from America and Canada containing maple and bacon flavored fudge that had not been touched, a box of chocolate-dipped waffles from their neighbor, something that looked like a jar of jam from Austria, and several foil-wrapped bars of chocolate courtesy of Switzerland and Liechtenstein. This was in addition to a variety of exotic fruits imported from Seychelles and Vietnam. On the counter, several bottles of alcohol (sherry from Spain, amaretto from Italy, vodka from Russia) lined up neatly, though none of them seemed to have been opened yet.

So he was last, or very nearly so.

The thought should have embarrassed Germany, but at the same time, a strange hope bloomed in his heart, that perhaps his gift, as late as it was, might be the last piece needed to help France. Determined, Germany turned the oven on and slid the cake inside to warm. He was watching the oven so intently, he did not even notice when France had entered the kitchen.

"_Allemagne_?" France looked at him, blue eyes shadowed, but curious. "I was not expecting you, this is a pleasant surprise."

Germany turned around, feeling his heart suddenly beat too fast and a distant analytical part of his mind took note of this for later. "I have dropped by with a gift for you, since you have not been feeling well," he explained as calmly as he could. "It will be ready soon, if you could please wait a minute."

The other's tired face lit up with an amused smile, and instead of shaking the extended hand, he quickly embraced Germany. "Thank you. You are too sweet."

Too flustered to answer, Germany disentangled himself and went about the task of pulling the dessert out of the oven and setting it on a towel on the counter. Looking at it now, so humble and plain, not even decorated with icing or chocolate, Germany wondered whatever possessed him to bake for a country as talented at cooking as France.

"What kind of cake is this?" France asked, eyeing the pan's contents appreciatively.

"It's ah… Aprikosenkuchen, made with apricots." Unable to think of anything more eloquent to say, Germany hurried over to the refrigerator and pulled out a tub of whipped cream to serve with his creation.

In just a few minutes, France found himself seated at the table, a slice of apricot cake on his plate, neatly flanked by a dollop of sweetened whipped cream and a glass of warm milk on either side, and above all, a nervous Germany standing to his left.

"Sit down, Germany," France exclaimed, tugging his sleeve, "this is not an examination!"

Reluctantly, Germany took a seat, but he still did not look very comfortable even after the other nation squeezed his hand gently. They sat together in silence until finally Germany asked, "Are you going to try it?"

"Of course! I was waiting for you to serve me." France grinned at him, cheeky as ever.

"Ah… yes, I see." Clearing his throat, Germany sliced off a corner of the cake with a fork, being careful to include a bit of cream, and then blushed even more to see France close his eyes and open his mouth in anticipation.

Here goes, he thought grimly, and thus was totally not prepared when France leaned forward suddenly and kissed him.

They had to get a new fork because Germany dropped that one on the floor, and it took a while to finish the cake, with France slowing their progress by sneaking in kisses whenever he thought Germany was not looking. It seemed that France liked it, but he had to ask to make certain.

The other nation laughed. "I assure you, Germany, your cake is the most delicious thing in this kitchen."

Germany looked at France in genuine surprise. Surely it was not any better than Switzerland's chocolates, or Italy's amaretto.

As if he read his mind, France said, "You know I wouldn't lie about that. But also… you came to give me your gift in person, and perhaps that has influenced my sense of taste." He chuckled again, bitterly this time. "No one else came to visit me. I think they are under the impression that I am contagious."

Germany stood up, frowning indignantly. "You are definitely not contagious. You are going to get better, I will make sure of that. And you will start by eating another slice of cake right now." He then explained that apricots were full of vitamins and nutrients and fiber, which should increase one's energy levels, and France interrupted the lecture, complaining that he will be so stuffed, Germany will absolutely have to carry him to bed.

"Very well," Germany replied, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth upward. "Whatever it takes, but I will stay with you until you recover. We shall get through this together, I promise."

_"Merci, mon ami._" Although it sounded more like "_Mahshi mohg ami_" due to the fact that France's mouth was full of cake and apricots.

"Don't talk with your mouth full. Chew every bite slowly. And drink your milk. Not so fast, you will get a stomach ache!"


End file.
